JB in his favorite pose - my antique chair in the foyer. His exercise routine is stretching out in it 3 times a day. To add insult to injury, he's lying on a pillow that has a picture of the dogs on it....
Cats are supposed to catch mice, right? You'd certainly think so. Having been homeless 5 or so years, I was assured that this cat, in particular, would never let another vermin into my Mansion. I believe the statement Amy (his original rescuer) use when I inquired about his mousie-catching prowless was something to the effect of 'He's a champion mouser.' Liar, liar, her pants are on fire..
I had seen signs of a mouse again last week so, once again, John, Mom and I cleaned out all the cupboards, washed everything and put it in the (now junked up) dining room. I took JB over to the spots where I'd seen mice, patiently explaining that now was the time for him to earn those tasty salmon treats he enjoyed so ($3.99 a micro-ounce), and that fresh cream daily, etc. I explained to him, quite clearly, my expectations, even going as far as putting him in each of the drawers in the hopes that catching the scent of a mouse might wake him up from his perpetual slumber. For the cupboard under the drawers, I put him in the cupboard and was hoping he'd look around. No go. He was only interested in the bologna sandwich on the counter. So, not to be outdone by a cat, I picked him up, returned to the cupboard and shook him so that, at least, his fur would be left behind. He was a bit offput by this behavior and gave me a nice scratch to show his displeasure. Ok, I thought. Maybe he has his own way of dealing with the issue. He, being the cat, must know best.
Imagine my surprise (and what should have been his shame) when I discovered yet another mouse had met his untimely demise at the hand of a tiny guillatine in my (empty) silverware drawer. Yes, that's right....I believe JB was sleeping at the time, or, more likely, licking himself....
John took the mouse right to JB to show him what he SHOULD have been doing during the night. The cat (honest truth), peered at the mouse, looked at John and, if the cat had a middle finger, I believe he would have utilized it - cat turned on his heel and sat with his back to John, me, and, well, the quite dead mouse.
'Maybe the mouse needs to look alive,' I whispered, hopefully. So, John gently turned it to and fro, waved it in front of the cat. This time, the cat looked quite disgusted as he departed the kitchen - even his morning bowl of cream wasn't worth this attrocity. Who did we think he was?! I didn't see one bit of regret, no shame, no embarrassment, no nothing. In fact, if anything, I think I detected a wisp of arrogance as he turned to sharpen his claws on my dining room chair.
Luckily for JB, I (if not the dogs) find it unimaginable to think of life around here without him. He continues to bring us much joy - and vet bills....
As I type this, he's sound asleep on the leather sofa. Killian is quite confused...
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